A New Rose
by A.S.112
Summary: Juliette Murrel became a part of the Opera as soon as it reopened to pursue her dream of becoming a performer of the Arts--but she also wants to search for the famous Phantom of the Opera. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story was simply made by sudden inspiration! Hope you like it!

I don't own Phantom. If I had, I'd be very rich and publishing my own works about him. But, sadly, that's not how it is...*Laugh* XD

* * *

The re-opening of the Opera Populaire. Finally.

I've been waiting for it to re-open for years. The fire damage had been terrible and had engulfed more than three quarters of the theatre!

I was very young when it happened; only eight years of age. We were only riding in the carriage down a cobblestone street when a bright light in the distance erupted above the rooftops.

"Look Mama!" I had cried and pointed toward the light.

Unfortunately, we had no time to investigate it, for a special event was at hand at the time, but the next day the news had spread like the fire had spread itself. My family along with hundreds of other civilians had come to inspect the famous Opera Populaire: it looked severely burnt and battle-scarred. Windows were broken and the ceiling had caved in somewhat.

A perimeter had been set by the authorities so that spectators wouldn't take a closer gander for themselves.

As young as I was, I didn't understand much at first, but as I grew up I came to understand the story of what had happened that one altering night at the Opera:

"Don Juan Triumphant" was being performed. A young woman of nineteen, Christine Daae, had been playing a gypsy. She had been the marvelous new prodigy to behold and had taken the spotlight unexpectedly from La Carlotta, who, from what I've heard, was a diva and had been the star of the show before.

After Mlle. Daae had made her quiet entrance, a man had sung to her seductively with an angel's voice. They had performed their duet, and, swiftly, Christine had ripped off the mask that had been obscuring the man's face to reveal a monstrosity as horrible as Satan's face.

The man had taken Mlle. Daae below into the cellars with the police behind them. But the authorities had been stalled by the elegant chandelier falling onto the audience, and fire began to flood the entire theatre.

The man was said to be the Opera ghost, or the Phantom of the Opera.

When I had first heard the word "ghost", I had laughed at the supposed joke. They had given me an odd look and seemed to question my sanity.

"You must be joking!" I had insisted. "You believe a ghost caused all that damage? Ghosts do not even exist!"

"He is said to have an appearance of a phantom, but he is really a man, though most don't think of him as human, for all the crimes he's committed."

"What kind of crimes?"

"Murders," they had whispered. "He's slaughtered more than one hundred men, all found hanging by a noose around the Opera."

"An army can kill one hundred men. But not one man by himself. Surely you must be over-exaggerating."

"Not at all. The deaths have been counted."

I had disagreed silently and pursued a different subject afterward, but my mind never seemed to stray from this phenomenon and the man—or Phantom—behind it.

It seemed to have become an obsession by most, and I caught the trend of it also. This puzzle had almost taken my mind by the sheer commonness of the topic of the Opera incident.

I was most fascinated by this man behind the destruction of the theatre. I wondered if he still lived within the Opera; I wanted a glance at this man. Was he really so horrible for the eye? Was he truly as monstrous in his actions as in his form? I had so many questions left unanswered that would buzz in my brain eternally for months.

But soon the buzz died, for the topic was losing interest. I began to focus on my dream of becoming a world-renowned performer of the Arts. I wanted to excel in this world that enthralled me so.

I've always been a ballerina since I was a mere infant, but it was more by my mother's will than my own. I have been grateful, for I found a joyous pastime in dancing.

Singing was also a pastime I partook in passionately. My father would play the piano with lavish skill and practiced with me as I sang the notes he played. He also taught me how to play the piano, and the theory of music. I had never known that music was so complex and intricate, but I caught on quickly. I was able to read, play, and sing the note simultaneously within a few weeks.

While my skills were developing, I learned that the Opera had held dancers, singers, actors, and others of performing arts and I wished I could've been older to have experienced being on a stage in front of thousands like them.

Now I, Juliette Murrel, can finally become a part of the wondrous world of theatre in the Opera Populaire.

I was now at the age of eighteen. Ten years it had taken to restore the theatre to its former glory.

The Opera was now demanding new performers such as dancers for the "Corps de ballet". My parents had already established my place among them, and the day has finally come for me to become a part of it.

"Juliette, are you sure you want to do this?" my mother asked in front of the Opera.

"As sure as I have two arms and two legs, Mother," I replied simply.

"You have your luggage?"

"Right here Mother." I lifted my luggage in indication.

"You sure you have everything you could possibly need?"

"Yes Mother. I packed everything twice, as you requested."

"Good girl." My mother smiled. "You'll do wonderfully."

"Yes, my jewel," my father agreed. "You'll rise to the top soon enough. But remember that everything worth your while comes with time." He gripped my shoulders. "Make us proud."

He pulled me into a hug, and I returned it. He pulled back to look me in the eye. "One more thing: No boys."

"Papa…"

"Unless I know this boy and I give him my permission, you may not take an easy fancy to any man. You're much too young. Keep your innocence for a little while longer."

"I will, Papa."

He smiled and glanced down at my baby sister, who was reaching out with her little arms to me.

I lifted my baby sister, Gabrielle, into my arms.

"Are you ready to be a big girl, my little lily?" I asked her.

"No," she mumbled, her cherry lips in a pout. "I want you to stay. Why won't you stay?"

"You know I want to be ballerina," I reminded her, smiling at her adorable pout. "I have to start somewhere."

"But when will I see you again?"

"You can come see me dance when there is an opera playing. I can come see you after the show then."

"Okay."

"I love you Gabby."

"I love you too Julie."

I kissed her on the forehead and handed her to my mother.

I gave a last kiss to my parents and said farewell before I headed up the steps with my luggage hanging at my side.

As soon as I caught a glimpse at the lobby, my jaw dropped to the polished marble floors.

The entire lobby was made of marble, save the angelic statues, which seemed to be made of gold. White marble columns lined the rim of the lobby. Scarlet red curtains hung around the windows. Many other factors applied, but it is much too hard to describe them.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, amazed.

For the first time I noticed that others were in the lobby. Other dancers in the "Corps de ballet" were gathered at the steps and were looking attentively upon a strict-faced woman with a cane and dark hair and apparel.

"Welcome, Mesdames, to the 'Corps de ballet'," the woman said. "I am Madame Bedeau, the ballet headmistress. I am your instructor. Therefore, I am the one who makes the rules for all of you. I am to be treated respectfully by all of you, and when I make a command you say "Oui, Madame." Is that clear?"

"Oui, Madame," we repeated.

"Excellent. Now follow me to your quarters, and no going astray. It is very easy to get lost in these mazes of hallways."

We followed her silently as we listened to the rules: No wandering around the Opera unless attending by a superior. No slacking when practicing. And no boys in the dormitories.

Angry muttering erupted from some of the girls surrounding me. I personally didn't mind. I don't kidnap boys to do away with them for a night. I'm waiting for the right man to stumble upon me, or I him.

_Father would have been pleased,_ I thought with a smile. I sighed; I missed my family already.

_Chin up,_ I reminded myself. _This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Your dream is finally a reality!_

That thought made me grin ever more widely.

We reached the dormitories, and somehow I got last pick of the beds. My bed sat in a corner far away from the others by a window. The bed seemed in good enough condition, only the window was broken. A cold draft blew through. I shivered.

_I'm going to need more blankets, _I noted.

I threw my luggage on the bed. It sank into it, making a depression.

Great. I needed to re-stuff my bed.

I turned and looked around at the other girls unpacking. "Does anyone know if there are extra feathers I could use to stuff my bed with?"

Some glanced up at me, but looked away just as quickly and resumed unpacking.

"Anyone?" I asked, almost pleading.

"What was that?"

A girl with long curly blond hair stared at me with almond-colored eyes from a nearby bed.

"I asked for feathers. My bed needs to be stuffed."

"Oh, um, I'm not sure where they could possibly be," the girl replied. "But I could help you look for some."

"Why thank you," I said, smiling. "That's very kind of you."

"Of course," the girl said.

We walked out of the dormitories in search of Mme. Bedeau. She was coming back down the corridor right then.

"What are you girls doing out of the dormitories?" she asked as she approached us, a slightly angry expression upon her features.

I stood silent; the look Mme. Bedeau gave me made me unable to speak.

"She needs more feathers for her bed," the girl replied.

"Oh, I see." Mme. Bedeau's anger melted into a form of understanding. "I will go get them. Return to your unpacking."

"Oui, Madame," we said in unison, and walked back to our beds.

I looked at the girl. "Thank you for saying something. My throat closed up so I couldn't have uttered a croak."

"You're welcome," she said, giggling.

"Oh, how impolite of me! I'm Juliette." I held out my hand.

"I'm Alice," she said, shaking my hand. "A pleasure."

"Likewise." I was caught staring at her light hazel irises for a moment; she gave me a quizzical look.

I shook my head, laughing. "I apologize. I was looking at your beautiful eyes. I've never seen eyes that color."

Alice blushed. "Thank you."

Mme. Bedeau walked in with a burlap sack and handed it to me.

"Here you are," she said then looked around at the other girls. "Now Mesdames, get a good night's sleep. We have a long practice tomorrow. Be up at 6:00, no later. Practice begins at 7:30 after you've had breakfast."

After she had stridden out, the girls began to chatter excitedly about what the next day could be like.

I turned back to Alice. "May I ask your age?"

"I'm eighteen. And you?"

"Eighteen also!" I said excitedly.

"That's convenient!" Alice said. "I was afraid I wouldn't find someone my age."

"Me too. You know, I've always wanted to come here and be a part of the Opera, ever since I learned of it."

"I actually wanted a quiet life as a housewife—until I found out how boring that was!"

I laughed with her before she continued: "I've been to plays and small performances in small theatres, but never to a big lavish opera. I read how wonderful the actors', singers', and dancers' life was, and I wanted to live it as well. So I practiced dancing and singing. I'm not very good at singing though, but I'm quite the opposite for dancing. It's a wonderful art, don't you think?"

"Quite," I agreed. "I was dancing ever since I was very small. But I found singing was a great escape for me, just as well as dancing."

I led her away from the others to my bed in the corner and lowered my voice to a whisper. "Another reason why I came here was to see the Phantom of the Opera."

"Oh yes, I've heard of him!" Alice said softly. "But I heard that he abandoned the Opera. He left when they went to look for him below the Opera."

"Really?" Disappointment flooded my heart and it showed clearly upon my face.

"Oh but you know rumors!" she encouraged. "They aren't always true. I mean, where could he have gone if he indeed left the safety of the cellars of the Opera? He might still be lurking around. I can't say if that's good though."

"It might not be for others, but it is good for me. I want to see if he truly is as horrible as people say. Usually, they over-react on things, you know?"

"Yes." Her look became slightly concerned. "I hope you don't start wandering around looking for him."

"Oh no," I said, and then added. "Not yet anyway. Maybe he'll turn up sometime."

Alice looked apprehensive and slightly disapproving, and decided to pursue a different subject.

"We should get some rest." She glanced at my unopened luggage. "And you should get unpacking."

"Right!" I had completely forgotten about my luggage and hurriedly started unpacking.

Alice laughed behind her hand and left to get herself ready for bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Practice was extensive, but it was very fun with Alice to talk to.

I was slightly out of shape and Mme. Bedeau noticed, so she was constantly checking on me to make sure I wasn't resting my aching muscles. I didn't complain or show weakness on my face at all. I wanted to prove I was more than capable of being a part of the "Corps de ballet" to Mme. Bedeau and to the other dancers.

I enjoyed myself though. Most of the girls were kind and polite while the rest were only just bearable; their manners were not very well developed and they gossiped and complained more than anything else. They weren't bothering me or the other girls, but stayed in their clique 24/7.

One day while we were practicing on the Opera's stage, Mme. Bedeau left on the manager's call for a reason untold to us dancers.

Right when she was out of earshot, the girls burst in chatter.

I took this chance to focus on the house of the Opera: The architecture was the same here as it was in the lobby, only more elaborate. Statues of angels and demons made of gold surrounded the upper part of the Opera and around the boxes. Hundreds of scarlet red cushioned seats filled the house like a sea of red velvet. High above the house on the ceiling were pictures of cherubs and seraphs in the clouds of Heaven. Hanging from the ceiling was a colossal chandelier made entirely out of crystal.

I glanced around the stage and found a piano in stage right. I ran to it.

"Juliette?" Alice called. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to play," I replied as I sat down on the bench.

"I don't think that's allowed…"

"Whatever Madame doesn't know won't hurt her. Besides, I'm playing music, and this is an Opera where music is played." I looked at her. "Correct me if I'm wrong."

She pursed her lips but remained silent.

I played a small melody, letting my fingers fly smoothly over the keys, my foot on the pedals. I stopped the melody and began practicing my range, for it's been days since I've sang a note, and I had a strong urge to sing soprano.

I started on middle C on the piano, as I always have, and played a little exercise my father had used. C, D, E, D, C. I sang the notes as they were played. D, E, F, E, D.

I continued this pattern until I was singing above high C. I prepared myself before I sang above it. I went slowly: B…C…D…C, B.

I smiled. I had hit it perfectly.

_Father would be proud_, I thought happily to myself.

I stood and turned to find every single girl staring at me with wide surprised eyes.

I started to feel self-conscious and my cheeks began to burn. "What?"

Alice approached, also looking shocked, but smiled as she said. "I didn't know you could sing soprano."

"Yes, of course," I replied, confused. "Why? Can't you?"

Alice looked around at the others who were glancing at each other in turn with shaking heads. They whispered among each other.

Alice faced me again, her head moving side-to-side also. "No. It's a rare gift to be able to sing higher than a high C."

"Oh. I thought everyone could sing that high," I said truthfully, feeling uncomfortable.

Alice ran to me. "You should be glad to have such a gift! It sounded beautiful!"

I blushed even more to the roots of my hair. "Thanks."

She gasped and smiled wider as a sudden idea came to her. "Tell Madame Bedeau!"

"What?!"

"You could become a singer and get a tutor and everything! Tell Madame Bedeau that you're a soprano!"

"I don't think that'll make me very popular," I whispered as I glanced behind Alice's shoulder to the other girls. They were whispering to each other behind hands and some were giving me dirty looks.

"Oh pooh!" Alice waved her hand carelessly. "They're just jealous of your talents. I'll tell Madame Bedeau if you won't!"

"No no! That's quite alright!"

"Then tell her when she comes back."

I was doubtful and hesitant. "I—I can't."

"I'll tell her with you. How about that?"

"Well…"

"You'll be a fabulous opera singer, Julie, I know it! It'll do wonders for you! Didn't you say yourself you wanted to become world-renowned in the Arts?"

"Well…yes but—"

"Well singing is part of the Arts _and_ what a better place to start than here! You're already a part of the theatre. Think of it as a promotion!"

"If you believe I can do it then…I guess I can."

"You can—and will!"

At that moment Mme. Bedeau came back from one of the offstage doors.

"Madame?" Alice called. "Juliette wants to ask you something!"

Mme. Bedeau raised a suspicious eyebrow but beckoned us forward.

Alice gripped my hand tightly and pulled me to Mme. Bedeau.

"Mademoiselle Murrel?" Mme. Bedeau addressed me. "What is it you wanted to ask?"

I couldn't speak; a lump had formed in my throat and I felt my hand start sweating in Alice's.

"She," Alice intercepted, "wanted to tell you that she can sing soprano."

"Really?" Mme. Bedeau crossed her arms. "Why can't Juliette tell me herself?"

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "I can tell you myself."

She waved a hand for me to proceed and I continued: "I can sing above high C."

She looked skeptical. "If this is true then why did you not say anything earlier?"

"I didn't know my talent was so rare; I thought all girls could sing that high," I explained.

"Could you give me an example of your supposed talents?"

"Um, I would be more comfortable if I had the piano playing under me."

"Very well."

She followed me to the piano and I stood up this time to get the best possible sound out of myself. I went up the scale starting at high A. A, B, C, B, A.

"Ah, ah, _ah_, ah, ah," is what came out. I continued the scale: B, C, D, C, B. "Ah, _ah_, _ahh,_ _ah_, ah."

I stopped and looked at Mme. Bedeau; her face showed no emotion.

Then she said, "Impressive. I will consider you joining the other singers. Until then, continue dancing as instructed."

And like that, I was back dancing with the rest like normal, except the girls kept throwing me dirty glances.

* * *

How intriguing…

The famous Opera ghost sat quietly in his box five, observing the dancers practice, his eyes on the soprano girl.

He had watched her play the piano, and saw that she had some musical skill. But she has much to learn.

He had heard her say how she thought the others could sing above high C. Ha! They all wish they could. This girl was so naïve. Of course no one else could hit the high C! Only someone as special and gifted as…

He stopped himself. Thinking of _her_ was much too painful still, after all these years.

He resumed his thoughts:

Still, the girl has potential. What she needs is a tutor.

What he instantly thought was himself but he retreated from the thought. He had trained…_her_. He had given her his passion: his music. He could not make the same mistake for another wannabe Christine.

Though this girl seemed different. This girl had a different air about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He needs to observe this girl more closely. He knew he shouldn't but something urged him to.

He swept out of box five and seemed to melt into a wall in the corridor beyond.

* * *

I stared at the ceiling on my bed in the dark. The only sound was the soft snoring of the girls around me.

I felt restless and very much awake. I tried to get comfortable by turning on both of my sides, my back, and my stomach, but nothing seemed to dull my senses and make me tired.

I had chills, and I thought of the window right beside me with the crack in it. But this wasn't that kind of chill.

I felt as if I was being watched, though I couldn't understand why. The only people around me were fast asleep.

Finally, I decided a midnight stroll would help me become tired. I grabbed my ballet flats and slipped them on. I wrapped a blanket tightly around my shoulders and grabbed a gas lamp.

When I had closed the doors to the dormitories, I lit the gas lamp, illuminating everything within ten feet of me.

I decided to walk to the Opera stage and back, for I knew the way well after repeating the path everyday for weeks.

I crept along the corridors confidently with the gas lamp held out in front of me until I was standing center stage, looking out over the house.

I couldn't make out anything except the first couple rows of seats. Beyond that it was all darkness. The light was able to reach the chandelier high above me, reflecting off the crystal faintly.

I looked around the stage at the numerous shadows in the corners and started feel frightened. But a swept these fears away as I thought:

_There is nothing here that could possibly hurt me._

Right then, I felt I was being watched again. I threw my lamp into the shadows, my heart pumping loudly in my ears. I found not a soul hiding.

I took deep breaths, and decided to walk back to my bed. It seemed much more inviting in my mind now.

I went back down the corridors. It seemed to take longer to get back, probably because I wanted to be wrapped comfortably in my bed so desperately. After a while I began to wonder if I had gotten lost and my heart sank. What would happen to me if they found me alone in this God-forsaken hallway? Would I be expelled from the "Corps de ballet"?

What if they never found me?

I panicked and started to run down the hallway. I turned a corner and found myself in a familiar corridor and breathed a sigh of relief; I was back at the quarters.

I walked peacefully toward the door when my foot pricked on something.

"Ouch!" I muttered hoarsely.

I looked down at the source of my pain and found nothing but a single red rose with a black ribbon tied to its stem.

I knelt down and picked it up, careful not to prick my fingers on the thorns.

_How peculiar…_

I felt the satin on the ribbon and the softness of the petals. It seemed to be starting to wither; the edges of the petals were turning black. Besides that fact, it was very beautiful.

I looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was around. It seemed odd that it had dropped in this particular place at this particular time when I had been coming back from my stroll.

I decided to ponder the mystery later. I put the rose into my lamp-holding hand and turned off the lamp. I groped for the dormitory door handle and opened it silently. I sneaked to my bed, set down the gas lamp and got back into bed, dropping my ballet shoes onto the floor.

I held the rose for a moment longer, admiring its beauty, and placed it gently on the window sill.

I curled into my blankets and stared at the rose until I fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

This decision had been hard and he had made it at the last moment. He regretted it with half his being, but he other half seemed at peace and satisfied.

He had been watching the girl thrash, trying to fall asleep, as he looked down from between two planks in the ceiling above her.

He felt like he had to show he existed, for she questioned it in her mind. But it had to be subtle and something that wouldn't catch the others' attention. She won't know what it meant at first, but he had the feeling she'll learn soon enough.

She had stood up and wandered to the corridor outside with a gas lamp.

What was she doing? She was going to get herself lost! If he had to show himself to lead her back…

An idea then came to him. He swept away from his hiding place and went down a passage.

He came out of a wall on the catwalk several long moments later.

Just as he suspected: the girl had gone down a familiar path to the stage.

She held up her lamp to the stage, looking out over an invisible audience.

Suddenly she swung her lamp around her, making her light reach the far shadowy corners of the stage. She was unnerved somehow, a look of fear upon her features.

Realization dawned on him: She sensed him. How?

The girl then seemed to relax—or try to—as she gripped the blanket around her shoulders to her form more in an attempt to calm herself. She began to walk to her dormitory.

It's now or never.

He fled swiftly back through the passage he was just in and came out of another wall in the dancers' quarters hallway.

He didn't make a sound as he strode up the corridor to the dormitory door.

He drew from the inside of his cloak a rose he had prepared with a black satin ribbon tied to the stem of it.

He placed it strategically in front of the door and went back into the passage, returning to his spot in the ceiling above the girl's bed.

She was soon sitting on her bed, holding his rose. He watched with a mix of remorse and sense of accomplishment as the girl stared intently at the rose before lulling to sleep.

As he was walking back to the cellars below the Opera (his home), he kept thinking if he had done the right thing. Was it right for her to know of his existence?

He had a thirst to remind the world that he is very much alive. But now didn't seem to be the correct time to do so.

He wanted oh so much to remind these people who _really_ controlled the Opera Populaire. But something held him back. Was it fear, remorse, hurt? What prevented him from returning to his place as the Phantom of the Opera?

So many questions. So little answers. He had no one to ask but himself.

He had no one to blame for these questions—for this pain—but himself.

How would he relieve this pain by trying to communicate with this naïve girl that seemed to be so full of potential?

He wallowed in these unrequited questions that seem to haunt him more than he has done to this very Opera.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up facing the rose, and for a millisecond I wondered where it had come from, but the events the night before came back quickly.

I had just found it in the middle of the hallway.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes awake. I had lost sleep. Wonderful.

I stalled on moving, for my eyes were stubborn and wouldn't stay open.

"Are you slow this morning Julie?"

Alice was smiling at me from her perch at the end of her bed.

"Physically, yes," I replied. "Mentally, quite the opposite."

"Why?" she asked as she sat next to me. "You went to bed the same time as everyone else."

"I couldn't sleep until God knows when. I probably only got a few hours of sleep."

"What could possibly keep you up late at night?" She giggled and asked in an undertone. "Was someone snoring a little too loudly?"

I laughed despite my sleepiness. "No." I looked around at the other girls, who weren't paying us any attention. "I…felt I was being watched."

Alice looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But I felt someone's eyes upon me as I was lying in bed and—" I stopped myself. I am _not _telling Alice I was wandering around the Opera in the middle of the night.

She seemed to be expecting me to continue. "And…what?"

I kept quiet and thought hard for a lie.

Too late; she glanced behind me at the rose.

"Where did you get that?"

_Bother._

I played dumb: "Get what?"

"That rose." And she pointed to it.

I glanced at it with a lack of interest. "I…found it."

"Where?"

"Now we really should be getting ready or Madame Bedeau will have our heads." I began to stand but she pulled me back down.

"Where did you find the rose, Julie? Did you go wandering around?"

She gasped and hissed, "Did you go looking for the Opera ghost?"

"No, no! I didn't go looking for the Opera ghost!" I laughed lightly for show at her. "You silly."

"But you wandered around."

I sighed. "Yes, Alice, but it was only to get tired. I stepped on the rose as I came back from my walk."

"What if you were caught?" Her expression was pained.

"I wasn't caught, so why are we pondering on the 'ifs?'"

"Juliette, I don't want you getting expelled from the 'Corps de ballet,'" Alice said in very serious tone. "Promise me you won't go wandering around again."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"I just _can't _Alice. Please try to understand—"

"Fine. But don't expect me to cover for you when you _do_ get caught."

Alice left me in a fury to get herself ready.

I looked at the rose and muttered, "What trouble have you gotten me into?"

* * *

Dance practice lost its fun.

Alice was now in a code of silence; she would not only avoid contact with me, but wouldn't talk to any other girl. It was like she was making herself suffer.

_What an interesting strategy,_ I thought. _She makes herself suffer in an attempt to make the offender suffer also for her pain as well as their own. Therefore, they would apologize to her sooner than usual. Very ingenious…_

My respect grew for her when I found that her plan was working; I was starting to feel bad.

But I wasn't going to give in that easily. She can't force me to stop being curious and adventurous. This Opera was huge and there were so many places to discover—and I was seeing so little of it.

Besides, she over-reacted. I was trying to wear myself out so I could get some sleep. And of course she had to accuse me of looking for the Opera ghost. I knew I shouldn't have said anything…

"Mademoiselle Murrel!"

I glanced up to find Mme. Bedeau staring at me critically.

I looked around. We were doing a different exercise, and I had been too distracted with my own thoughts to hear Mme. Bedeau change it.

"Do you mind coming back down to Earth?" Mme. Bedeau said. "Pay attention! Do not make me call you out again. I'm I clear?"

"Oui, Madame," I mumbled, bowing my head in embarrassment and began doing the same exercise as everyone else.

_Wonderful, _I thought angrily. _Since I have no one to talk to, I'm getting myself wrapped so tightly in my own thoughts that I'm losing contact with the world. _I caught myself. _Focus on what you're doing!_

I glanced at Alice. Her gaze was averted, but I swore she had been looking at me right before I had turned.

* * *

Practice didn't get any better; Alice still avoided me, Mme. Bedeau still called me out, and she hadn't even brought up anything about me becoming a singer.

As things got worse, the rose on my window sill seemed to wilt rapidly. Petals were blackening and falling off, leaving a pile in its wake.

My heart sank as I watched it wither everyday. I didn't want it to die. The plant looked like it was trying to hang on for dear life, and I was just letting it lose its grip.

I couldn't just ask Mme. Bedeau for a vase of water for it; it would arise _so_ many questions. All I could do was watch it die.

One day, after an agonizingly long practice and a quiet dinner on my part, I found a new rose on the window sill by my bed.

I picked it up to look at it more closely: It looked like an exact replica of the rose I found outside the dormitory. Its red petals' edges were blackening and a black satin ribbon was tied to the stem.

I smiled as I looked upon it, but frowned as I thought:

_How did it get here?_

Someone must have sneaked into the dorm and replaced it, knowing it was withering.

_But who?_

Wait. The fact that it was placed right outside the door on my midnight stroll, and now the wilting rose had been replaced by a new one? All without seeming to have any help from any human?

_Mon Dieu._

I dropped the rose onto my bed. I was frozen in place, staring at the foggy windowpane.

It couldn't be. Was it?

Is he? How? Why her? Why was he sending _her_ flowers?

He sent Christine flowers.

I took a sharp intake of breath.

Wait. Why did he send Christine flowers? What do roses mean?

They can mean love, but that's impossible. He can't _love_ her!

_Can't he?_

Stop! There's another meaning to roses in theatre: To…applaud them for their performance.

But she didn't perform!

_The day I sang soprano on stage._

He was there?

_And apparently thought I had some talent._

This is impossible!

_The proof is on my bed._

I looked down at the rose, my feelings toward it having completely evolved.

As long as she had thought about the Phantom, this is what she'd least expected. He gave her a rose for God's sake! He gave her a rose for her talents—for her voice.

Why?

What trick was he pulling? What is she the pawn of? What use could she possibly be to _him_?

I sat down and lifted the rose to eye level and repeated, "What trouble have you gotten me into?"

I wished plants could talk then, for all I wanted was answers.

* * *

The days went by. Alice continued to avoid me, for I had nothing to apologize for and I couldn't make a promise I couldn't keep. She was the one being stubborn. And now with these new questions about the rose and the Phantom, I was being threatened to be expelled for not paying attention during practice from the sheer commonness of my inattentiveness.

Nothing changed, except the rose.

A rose wilted and a new one was put in its place. This repeated for seemingly endless weeks, and there was no peace within my heart or mind as long as that rose was present and my friend didn't speak to me.

I thought about throwing it out, but what would the Phantom do? He could do anything, and I didn't know him enough to predict his actions.

I was restless thinking over this. I lost more sleep then ever. It was unbearable! I was going to lose everything: my dream, my dignity…and the shame that would haunt me and my children…I shivered at the thought.

At last, one night, I couldn't take it anymore! I needed to tread off some of these feelings holding my mind and heart hostage from peace.

I got out of bed, slipped on some boots used for outdoors, and snatched the gas lamp from my bedside.

As I closed the door, I heard a small crunch from under my foot.

_What the…_

I turned on my gas lamp and shined the lamp at the floor.

I had stepped on a dead black rose petal, now crushed into powder by my boot. I saw another one, and another one, and another…

I shined my light down the corridor.

My jaw dropped.

A trail of blackened rose petals led down the hallway.

It must be the work of the Phantom. No question was in her mind about that.

He had used the petals from the roses he had given her.

Should she follow the trial?

I stood there, in complete indecision. A voice in the back of my mind urged me to follow:

_This is the moment you've waited for! He might lead you to him! You can finally see what he truly is!_

_Or it could be a trap, _I thought with reason.

Should she take the risk?

I must've stood there for who knows how long, but it was impossible. Whatever I thought, it came back to "It could be a trap" or "He could be toying with you, an innocent girl" or, the most frequent: "He could kill you!"

At last, I made my decision…

* * *

He was going against everything: his vows, his heart, his _mind_.

But he has to try.

And what if it failed? The girl could run her mouth dry about him to the others if this failed!

Or she would be too scared to speak of him—or speak at all for that matter.

What could he possibly be trying to fulfill by leading this girl to him?

Was he trying to fill the hole that Christine had left behind?

And this was his chance. He's been living with this emptiness for ten years! Ten _years_! A full decade!

But this girl could be a foolish mistake. She could have a head full of hot air.

That's not the impression he had gotten watching her play and sing. She indeed had potential.

She was the last thread of hope left. He had to get rid of this pain and emptiness that wouldn't go away.

She was just going to turn into a silly distraction.

Or she could release him and finally allow him to live in peace.

What else could he possibly do? He had no choice.

Everything has a choice, but did he make the right one was the question.

He sat waiting, hoping the girl would have found the trail he had left behind, and that she took it.

Another part of him hoped she stayed in bed and remained unaware.

That hope was futile though, for he knew too greatly she had an interest of him. Why she did, he knew not.

He stared at the flame of a melting candle, watching time go by slowly.

* * *

**A/N:** Can you tell me what you think so far? I'd to hear from anyone to see if it's good or bad! :)


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